Magic, Madness and Darkness
by Unholy-Existence
Summary: In an alternate Gakuen Hetalia world, all the countries have special powers. Some are useful, while others feel cursed. And in a world where intolerance for those who are different is on the rise, how will the cursed ones survive? Multiple POV. There may be some light pairings later on. Fail summary.


"And we pray to God." Honda dipped his hands in the oil, and rubbed it on his face. "For he has created all things." The oil dripped into his mouth and burned his eyes. "He is pure and good." He coated his hands with more oil, watching it fall in drops to the ground. Honda exhaled. "Man cannot become God, no matter how mighty their will, no matter how strong their power, they will never replace him." He repeated these words as the priest handed him a silver knife. Honda Kiku took the knife and, despite his slippery hands, managed to hold it steady. He held his arm over the oil basin and sliced a long, ragged cut. Blood flowed from his arm into the oil basin. Honda put his arm into the basin and watched the blood and oil swirl around, creating an odd color he had grown to know well. It stung terribly, but he had learned not to cry. Crying spoiled this crucial ritual. Honda took a deep breath and said the final words. "And any man who tries to become God shall burn." The priest held the small twig, lit with flame, and placed it against the oil, against Honda's arm. The fire spread quickly, burning all evil.

Honda bit his tongue, praying he wouldn't cry out as the flames lapped his arm. _It's just my right arm this time. In a year I'll have to do both, but this time…it's just my right arm_. It was so hot, creating that horrible smell of burning flesh. The smell turned sweet a few seconds later. It smelled like happiness. Honda looked down, unsurprised to see white light leaking out of his charred arm. The light extinguished the flames, though it did nothing for the throbbing, intense pain. Honda choked and closed his eyes. He couldn't seem to get enough air.

The priest grabbed his arm – the one that wasn't burned – and led him outside of the temple. Once they were outside, the priest finally spoke. "You did well, Honda-san."

Honda's tongue was raw from biting it so hard. "I live to serve." He managed to gasp. The priest put some salve on his arm and began wrapping it with bandages.

"You know why we do this, don't you?" He asked, his tone expressionless.

"There can only be so many Gods. Mortals cannot become a God." Honda said.

"Exactly." The priest's voice turned cold. "Your creation was a sin. For someone to be half-God…" His face became scornful, revolted. "It is vile and unforgivable."

Honda bowed his head obediently. Few knew that he was Split with a God, but several of those who did know resented him for it. Honda could understand why they felt that way. To be able to create things with one's bare hands, and to only need a pencil and paper…that was dark and surely evil. Even though he understood, it really, really hurt – he hated going through these ceremonies, and he hated the way the people who knew treated him. Like he was scum, like he was part-demon, not part-God. There were others, of course, who respected his powers. The person in charge of the school, Lord Romulus, was an example of this. Though he respected him, Lord Romulus was also wary of his powers, thus the rule:

"If you create anything evil – any weapon of any kind, try to animate a person or creature – then you will become K level and face rehabilitation. Draw only flowers, plants, bowls…those kinds of things, okay?"

Honda followed the rule obediently. He remembered the one and only time he had tried to draw a living creature.

Honda was ten and was instructed – by a naïve teacher who knew nothing of his powers or of his mother's death – to draw a portrait of his mother. Honda had eagerly obliged. He pulled out a large piece of paper and sketched her face first. Then he moved on to the body. The picture was by far the most beautiful thing he would ever draw. The same could not be said for his creation. Not two minutes after Honda had finished sketching his mother, the picture twitched. He watched as ink became bones, brittle at first, before solidifying. Blood and muscle seeped from the bones and became quickly enwrapped by skin. The white Kimono he had drawn his mother in oozed out from her skin. Her face remained a blank mask for several seconds. Then, with clear force, the skin on her face separated, revealing her eyes, nose and mouth. Honda thought he had brought his mother back, and he was, for a brief moment, very happy.

That changed quickly. Honda's mother opened her eyes, and they were nothing but black craters oozing blood. Blood leaked out of her mouth, nose and ears. Her stringy hair fell out in clumps. She reached a clawed hand in his directions, moans escaping her. Honda could only stare in horror as his mother – no, the thing – groped blindly on the ground, unable to stand. It moved toward him slowly, a soulless, Godless creation that he could not destroy.

Honda believed the thing would have killed him if Mr. Adel – then known as Sadik, as he was a Revealed at the time – hadn't stopped it and called Lord Romulus. Lord Romulus destroyed it and hastily left. The event alone was traumatizing enough to stop Honda from ever drawing a living creature again, but the Rehabilitation afterword solidified his goal to never do anything like that again. It was then that he truly began to hate his powers.

"Honda-san?" The priest asked. His voice brought Honda back to reality.

"Sir?" Honda looked down at his bandaged arm.

"Time to go." The priest said.

"Yes." Honda followed him into the large brown building that was the school. He stared at the white floors, watching his bare feet take each step. He didn't want to think about where he was going. Honda continued to stare at his feet. He watched as the floor went from white alabaster to gray concrete. The concrete was frigid, especially when he reached the stairs. He began his decent down. His heart quickened despite himself. I don't want to go in there…Honda thought. His feet continued moving, oblivious to his fear. Once the floor had become coated with dirt, and the air musty and thick, they finally stopped.

"Here you are." The priest said. As though Honda didn't already know he was there. The metal door screeched open, and Honda's heart stuttered. _No, no, please, no…!_ He thought. He was always claustrophobic when he first entered the Room. No matter how many times he told himself it would all be over within a week, it still scared him. He had to go into the Room. It was inevitable. Honda hesitantly stepped inside, the freezing concrete stinging his toes. An empty room greeted him. The concrete floor and walls were vacant and hostile looking. The only things on the floor were a small mat he was to use as a bed, several stacks of paper, and boxes of pens. A small light flickered from the ceiling. There wasn't even a window. The priest pushed Honda into the Room. "Goodbye." He said with a sneer. The door's screech was louder as he closed it behind him.

Immediately, the nausea kicked in. It always did. Honda ran over to the mat and curled up into a ball. "It's only for a week, it's only for a week, it's only for a week." He chanted. It didn't help much. He would be trapped in this chilly, airless room for an entire week, and expected to survive that long without human contact. They wouldn't even come inside to give him any food. The rules of the Room were simple and torturous.

1. He couldn't leave the Room until his week was up.

2. He wasn't allowed to draw (Though drawing was the only way he would receive food, or take care of his burned arm)

He couldn't try and contact anyone outside the Room until the week was over.

If he broke any of these rules, he would be severely reprimanded. The whole point of this was to prove to him that he wasn't – or would never be able to become – a God. It worked, too. It went to the point where sometimes even he felt as though he was evil. This wasn't true, because aside from The-Unforgivable-Incident-That-Happened-When-He-Was-Ten, he had done absolutely nothing wrong. Even so, sometimes he hated himself – especially when he was trapped in the Room. A minute felt like a hundred years; an hour felt like a millennium.

Honda gritted his teeth and gently touched his injured arm. It hurt so badly, but there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't draw anything to heal it, and there was nothing in the Room that would ease his pain. _I've survived this before. This and worse. _Honda thought, determined. _I can do it. I can do it! _He whimpered. _I have to do it. _The thought of rehabilitation terrified him, and it was enough to stop him at the moment. But later, say on the fifth day, when he would be so hungry and thirsty he could barely move…he wasn't sure if he'd be able to withstand the agony.

"I can do it. I can do it." Honda repeated. Honda stretched out on the mat, the claustrophobia slowly easing away. It would come back, he knew, and it would be ten times worse, but for now, he relished his panic free state.


End file.
